172

172
The great hall feels colder than usual tonight. Not because of the weather, the hearth is lit, flames licking at the logs, but because every pair of eyes in the room is fixed on one man. Theon stands at the center of the polished stone floor, shoulders squared, chin slightly lifted, as if bracing for a blow he refuses to duck.

The elders sit in a crescent along the raised platform, their chairs carved with the pack’s crest. Some lean forward, elbows on knees, others sit back with arms folded. They are older wolves, weathered by decades of leadership and politics. They’ve seen wars, alliances, betrayals — and they’ve learned to wield words as weapons.

The oldest elder clears his throat first, the sound scraping through the silence. “We’ve avoided this conversation long enough,” he says, voice steady but edged. “The curse must be addressed.”

Theon’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing. His Lycan stirs, a quiet rumble in the back of his mind, not yet demanding to surface but unwilling to be ignored.

Another elder folds his gnarled hands on the table. “Prince or not, Alpha or not, your bloodline carries a mark now. A mark the pack whispers about.” His pale eyes narrow slightly. “They call the young prince the cursed one.”

The insult hangs in the air like smoke.

Theon’s gaze sweeps over them, but his face remains unreadable. His hands stay loose at his sides, though the faint twitch in his fingers betrays his restraint. “If you summoned me here to repeat tavern gossip, you’re wasting your breath,” he says evenly.

One of the elders leans forward, silver hair catching the firelight. “This is not gossip, Alpha. This is concern. Your duty as Alpha is to secure a healthy heir before it’s too late. And the curse—”

“The so-called curse,” Theon cuts in, voice still calm but laced with warning.

She doesn’t flinch. “—makes the matter urgent.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Somewhere in the back of the hall, the logs pop in the fire.

The oldest elder shifts in his seat. “You’ve had years to choose a mate, and now… the white witch.” He doesn’t bother hiding the disdain in his tone. “Luna.”

Theon’s eyes sharpen. “Say what you want to me, but choose your words about my mate carefully.” His Lycan’s growl rises this time, vibrating through his chest though he keeps it silent.

One of the elders tilts his head. “We have no need to choose our words. The entire pack knows of her past link to Arwan. And even if she calls herself a ‘white witch,’ her kind is dangerous. Always has been.”

Another elder, who has been silent until now, lets out a low chuckle, dry as old parchment. “Do you forget why witches were purged generation ago? Why your own father signed the decree? You think they acted without cause?”

“She is not like them,” Theon says. His voice is quieter now, but it carries more weight.

“You say that because you’re blinded,” the oldest elder replies, gaze flicking toward the others as if to rally them. “Blinded by whatever spell she’s woven around you.”

“She hasn’t woven anything,” Theon says, his voice dropping lower still. “What you see as weakness is my choice. And my choice stands.”

The silver-haired elder’s lips press into a thin line. “Your choice may cost the pack. The curse is one matter. But adding a witch into the bloodline—”

“Enough,” Theon says, sharper this time. His Lycan pushes hard against the surface, wanting to leap forward, to silence them with teeth instead of words.

But one of the elders ignores the warning. “Do you think the enemy packs will hesitate to use her against us? Or that the old fears won’t be stirred again? Already, I hear mutterings from the patrol guards.”

Theon’s eyes flicker, the smallest crack in his composure, but he recovers quickly. “Then perhaps you should remind the guards who their Alpha is.”

A murmur rolls through the group, some voices low and indistinct. One of the elders leans back, studying him like a hawk weighing prey. “You can command obedience, Alpha, but you cannot command trust. That must be earned.”

Theon takes a step closer to the platform. “Trust is earned by loyalty, not prejudice. I have stood for this pack through battles you were too old to fight in. I’ve kept our borders secure. I’ve upheld the laws you claim to protect. And yet you question me — not because I’ve failed in my duty, but because you’re afraid the same Luna who has fought for you where my strength couldn't must be the reason the pack 's heir is cursed?”

The oldest elder’s nostrils flare. “Afraid? No. We are cautious. We remember the cost of forgetting history.”

“History,” Theon says, “is also full of times when fear drove wolves to make mistakes they couldn’t undo.”

The silver-haired elder leans back slowly, eyes narrowing. “You talk as if we’re your enemies.”

“Are you?” Theon asks.

The room stills. The only sound is the faint hiss from the logs as sap burns away. A few elders exchange glances, some breaking eye contact first.

One of the elders speaks up, voice quiet but cutting. “We are your counsel. But counsel is useless if the Alpha refuses to listen.”

Theon exhales through his nose, a slow, controlled breath. “I listen. I’ve heard every word tonight. And I’ll remember them.” He lets the weight of that linger before adding, “But my decisions remain mine.”

One of the elders snorts softly. “And if those decisions cost the pack—?”

“They won’t,” Theon says flatly. His Lycan presses against him again, pacing in his mind like a caged animal.

Silence settles once more, broken only by the fire’s crackle and the faint shuffle of an elder shifting in their chair.

The oldest elder leans back at last, the lines in his face deepening. “Then we’ll see, Alpha. We’ll see.”

Theon doesn’t bow, doesn’t thank them for their time. He turns and walks out, each step echoing off the stone, the heat of their stares following him until the heavy doors close behind him.

Outside the hall, the corridor feels almost too quiet. The hum of voices behind the doors fades, replaced by the muted sound of his own footsteps. He breathes out slowly, but the tension stays coiled under his skin.

It’s not the first time he’s heard whispers. But hearing them from the elders themselves is different. It plants a seed, no matter how hard he tries to burn it out.